


sticky sweet (summer heat)

by nightwideopen



Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo [8]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Asexual Character, Bingo, Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020, I literally don't know how to tag this, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Thirsty Bucky, an unfortunate popsicle situation, that's honestly it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25805626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: In which Clint's mouth is not G rated, that's for sure.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858942
Comments: 23
Kudos: 58
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	sticky sweet (summer heat)

**Author's Note:**

> the chronicles of sex ~~positive~~ favorable ace clint continue
> 
> what happened was i was gonna try to write a short and sweet pwp and then i remembered that i CAN'T do that because i've literally never been able to write smut in my life because it squicks me to no end and i made frustrated noises and ended it where it ended
> 
> i- 🤬 
> 
> i think it turned out ok though for the idea that i was going for
> 
> enjoy? tell me your thoughts? feel free to write the rest if you wanna?
> 
> **Square filled: Bucky/Clint**

Clint has a love/hate relationship with summer. It's more love than hate because he gets to show off his arms for three months straight but holy shit, the _heat_. It's unforgivable. In New York, it sticks to the sidewalks, bounces off the buildings, and hides in the ominous piles of trash that litter almost every street. It's not something you ever get used to.

Not to mention that his air conditioner has decided to crap out on the day he needs it most.

But Bucky—perfect angel Bucky—comes over with popsicles and bags of ice and cold beer and a _fan_. It's a little thing that Clint can prop up on his coffee table, because even though the summer heat is making his apartment sticky and oppressive, a little bit of oscillating air blowing directly over the couch makes a hell of a difference on days like this. 

Once all of the groceries squared away and Clint feels less inclined to murder someone, he sighs dreamily, fixing Bucky with a grateful smile for long enough that his popsicle starts to drip down his arm.

“Shit.”

He laps up the red liquid before it gets a chance to stain his skin, licking up his arm, getting his tongue in between his fingers and popping the frozen treat in his mouth before more juice manages to escape. It does anyway, though, and he spends his entire time with the popsicle chasing after its remnants until he hears a strangled sound come from beside him.

It's Bucky.

“You okay?” Clint raises an eyebrow at him, at the unusual flush of his cheeks and his dilated pupils. He's staring at Clint like he wants to _eat him_. “Please don't eat me.”

Bucky’s gaze goes from Clint’s mouth to his eyes.

“What?” he says distractedly.

“You look like– You're… I dunno, it's creepy. Stop it.”

Bucky founders, stuttering out words that aren't really words until he settles on, “I don't want to eat you!”

“Well.” Clint smiles and takes the last bite of his popsicle into his mouth. “That's good. I probably don't taste too great, anyway.”

“You're insufferable.”

“So I've been told.”

And Clint thinks that's the end of it, but Bucky keeps staring at him like he's either going to stab Clint or run out the door.

“Seriously,” Clint starts, “Are you–?”

But Bucky cuts him off with a searing kiss that's mostly him biting Clint's bottom lip and Clint being too stunned to kiss him back.

“I'm–” Bucky pulls away, looking mortified. “Shit, I'm sorry. You're just so–”

_Oh._ Oh, shit. Clint gets it now. He grins.

“You wanna fuck me?”

Bucky splutters, cheeks going redder than Clint's popsicle-stained fingers. “Not… not _immediately,”_ he says. Which is quite frankly more honesty than Clint was expecting. 

“Well, why didn't you just say?”

“I don't–” Bucky waves one hand helplessly. “I don't usually have to. It's usually…” He trails off. The word _implicit_ bounces around Clint's head. _Mutual_. “I'm sorry, I'll–”

He starts to stand up, but Clint isn't having any of _that_. He takes Bucky's wrist and yanks hard until Bucky is flopping down back onto the couch cushions, stunned.

“Wha–?

“Bucky, I'm asexual. I'm not sexually attracted to you or to anyone else. I don't get those _I need to suck your dick right now or else_ feelings like most people do.”

“Oh.”

Clint barrels on despite Bucky’s floundering face. “But I can appreciate that you're attractive. And I _really_ appreciate that _you_ find _me_ attractive. You just gotta tell me, 'kay? Honesty is the best policy. We can fuck. You just gotta say when.”

That makes him sound vaguely like a human sex toy. He wrinkles his nose. Bucky's probably getting the wrong idea.

“Obviously I'll say no if I don't wanna, but I usually do. It's nice. I just don't _want_ to. I'll never initiate it. Does that make sense?”

Bucky looks somewhat like he's just been given a complicated mathematical formula to solve.

“You really don't feel anything? Even when you see like–?” He blushes again. It's adorable. But Clint really doesn't feel like explaining.

“Eh," he settles on. Then he squints at Bucky curiously. “Did the popsicle really do it for you?”

Bucky doesn't blush any further, just laughs and averts his eyes. “Your mouth is not G rated, that's for sure.”

“I'll take that as a compliment. Come here.”

Clint decides that's enough chit chat, and uses as much strength as he can muster to pull Bucky onto his lap. Bucky’s just in running shorts and a tank top, his metal arm on full display and his thighs in the perfect position for Clint to get his hands on. Clint lingers on them for a second, feeling the muscles jump and tense as Bucky squirms under the attention.

“ _Clint_ ,” he whines.

Perfect.

Clint gets a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck and pulls him down for a bruising kiss, chasing Bucky’s tongue with his own and nipping on his lips until Bucky’s whimpering almost every time. He's not gentle, and he's not holding back, and Bucky seems to be just fine with that.

“Okay?” Clint asks after Bucky pulls back. He's red in the face and panting, his short hair mussed up from Clint tugging at it.

Bucky’s eyes are dark and wide in the most beautiful way, staring at Clint hungrily, reminiscent of just a few minutes ago even _before_ the tension in the air between them was palpable. Clint kind of hates that he can't pick up on it, kind of wishes he could feel what Bucky feels. But this is good enough—he still gets to have this, ace or not. 

“Clint,” Bucky says, slightly slurred.

“Yeah?”

“You'll–” He swallows harshly. “You'll tell me if there's– What do you want?” He starts pawing at the hem of Clint's shirt, the cool metal of his left hand brushing Clint's stomach as he tries to tug it off. “I don't want to get it wrong.”

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey.” Clint gently takes Bucky's hands in his own. “You don’t hafta do anything, just let me take care of you, okay? That's what I want.” And he does. He's never been entirely comfortable being the vulnerable one, especially after he's had to explain himself, lay his identity bare so casually like it's something he didn't spend years trying to parse out. He's a long way from thinking he's broken, not knowing who he is or what he wants. Clint knows himself now, and this is what he wants. “You tell me what _you_ want.”

Clint gently coaxes Bucky back in for a kiss, waits until he's fallen back into the rhythm of it and has his hands fisted in the front of Clint's already wrinkled t-shirt. Bucky hums appreciatively, almost innocently, and then scoots entirely up Clint's lap so that they're pressed flush together and Clint has never been so grateful to be taller than him. It makes it easy to tip his head onto the back of the couch, for Bucky to follow his lips and loom over him as he rolls his hips into Clint's stomach, chasing some relief. Clint’s hands are still on Bucky’s thighs, and he slides them up, slow and maddening until his fingers hit the hem of Bucky’s shorts.

Then he diverts his hands and tugs Bucky’s tank top over his head and tosses it onto the floor.

Then gets his grip back on Bucky’s thighs and smugly worms his fingers under the shorts again.

Bucky whines in frustration. And Clint, well, he's enjoying this more than he thought he would and barely has the presence of mind to remember his question. 

“Hey. You still haven't told me what you want. Come on, cough it up.”

Bucky whines again, this time with his face in Clint's neck, not stopping his movements or making any effort to say anything. He seems mostly content to bite at Clint's shoulder, harder and harder until Clint is nearly boneless himself, his hands weakly gripping at Bucky's hips.

“Just this.” Bucky says eventually. “Just you.”

Clint can work with that.


End file.
